The moment our eyes locked, the rest of the world faded into the background. Slade's hair burned into pure white, strands catching the sunlight as if they were spun from the very element he carried. My own shifted darker and darker until it was ink-black, the crimson ring at my finger glowing faintly as my veins hummed with energy. A slow exhale steadied me, my violet eyes opening with that familiar pulse of raw power.
Then we moved.
My feet dug into the dirt and I launched forward, katana cutting the air with a sharp whistle. The ground split slightly beneath my step, dust kicking up in a wake. Slade didn't even summon a sword—he simply raised his fists, light matter sparking along his knuckles, and met my strike head-on.
Steel clashed with light. The impact rattled my bones, the shockwave rippling outward. The ground cracked under us, water in the nearby lake shivering as if recoiling from the force. I pushed down harder, muscles straining, but Slade's arm didn't buckle. He only smirked, eyes calm, feet planted like stone.
I drew back and swung again, a diagonal slash meant to push him off balance. He slipped aside with a half step, brushing past my blade with his forearm, light matter sparking like a shield. Before I could recover, his fist snapped forward, grazing my cheek. A burst of wind rushed past my ear from the near miss.
Too close.
I spun the katana in a quick arc, forcing space between us, and charged again. The blade hummed as I let dark matter pulse down its edge, sparks of black lightning running along the steel. My swing carved a streak through the air, aimed for his side. He met it with his bare hand, light exploding at the point of contact. The sound was deafening, like two stones grinding together at impossible speed.
He didn't flinch.
"Not bad," he muttered, teeth flashing in a grin.
I pressed harder, sliding my grip down the hilt for leverage, and shoved forward. He shifted his weight, spun, and his elbow came whipping toward me. I barely ducked, the strike clipping the top of my hair as I stumbled back.
My breathing was already ragged. His wasn't.
Still, I wasn't about to stop. I darted in low, blade arcing upward in a sharp uppercut slash. His palm met mine mid-swing, pushing the steel aside with just enough force to throw the angle off. I gritted my teeth, brought it around for a second strike, faster this time. He tilted his head to the side, letting the blade pass close enough that I swore it trimmed the fabric of his shirt.
I caught Tifa's voice somewhere in the background—sharp, worried—but I forced myself to block it out.
Another swing, overhand this time. Too much weight in it, I realized too late. Slade sidestepped again, letting my own momentum carry me forward. His fist slammed into my ribs, blunt and merciless. Pain shot through me, the air leaving my lungs in a harsh grunt. I staggered, caught myself, and barely brought the blade up before he was on me again.
Steel screamed against his forearm, sparks flying.
I tried a quick feint—blade jerking left, then snapping right. He didn't fall for it. His hand snapped up, catching the flat of my katana mid-swing. For a terrifying instant, his grip locked me in place. He leaned in, grin cocky as ever.
"You're swinging it like a hammer, Kin."
Before I could pull back, his knee drove toward me. I twisted just enough for it to glance my hip instead of my stomach, pain flaring hot down my side. I yanked the blade free and staggered back two steps, adjusting my grip, forcing a steady breath.
I wasn't trained for this. I knew the basics, enough to keep the edge toward the enemy and my stance balanced. But against Slade? It wasn't enough.
He darted forward, no hesitation, fists glowing with light. His speed outmatched mine—I barely brought the katana up in time to block the first punch, the impact jolting all the way down to my shoulder. Another followed, and another, each strike sending vibrations through the steel until my arms ached.
I tried to counter, swinging low toward his legs. He leapt over it cleanly, his heel flashing out in a spinning kick. It connected with the flat of my blade, and the shock ripped the weapon from my hands.
The clang of metal echoed across the quiet clearing as my blade went flying, spinning through the air before jamming into the dirt a few feet away. My fingers stung from the impact of Slade's parry, the vibration still rattling through my bones.
I hissed through my teeth, dropping into a stance with bare fists as he lowered his glowing sword, the light dissolving from his hand into faint sparks.
"Guess it's just you and me now," Slade said, a cocky smile tugging at his lips. His tone was playful, but the gleam in his eyes told me he wasn't about to pull any punches.
Fine by me.
I lunged forward, fist cutting through the air, but he swayed back just enough for me to graze his chin. He countered with a sharp jab to my chest, knocking the wind from me. I gritted my teeth, catching his follow-up punch on my forearm before twisting my body to slam a hook into his ribs. The satisfying crack made my blood rush with excitement.
He barely flinched.
Slade grinned, rolling with the hit as if he'd expected it. His knee shot up fast—faster than I could brace. Pain exploded in my gut, but I forced myself to stay on my feet. I shoved his shoulder hard, staggering him back just enough to breathe.
Our eyes locked.
Then we were moving again, the world around us vanishing into the rhythm of fists and kicks. His strikes were sharp, clean, practiced—years of training polished into every movement. Mine were raw, heavy, each blow carrying the full force of my body and the Dark Matter humming faintly under my skin.
The first few exchanges left my knuckles bruised and my breath uneven. He was faster, no doubt about it, but when I landed, he felt it. That was my advantage—raw power, each hit making him take me a little more seriously.
"Not bad," he muttered between punches, blocking my hook with his forearm before ducking a wild swing. He caught my wrist and twisted, trying to throw me off balance, but I shoved forward with my shoulder, breaking free.
"Better than 'not bad,'" I shot back, throwing a sharp jab that forced him to step back.
He laughed—actually laughed—and it only fueled me more.
We clashed again, fists colliding, knees striking, elbows grazing. The ground scuffed beneath our boots, cracks forming in the dirt from the sheer force of our movements. My blood was hot, my mind focused on nothing but the next move, the next chance to land a clean strike.
Then I felt it—the shift.
His rhythm slipped for just a second, and I drove my fist straight into his chest. The impact forced him back, his boots skidding against the ground. He coughed, grin faltering as he steadied himself. For the first time, I saw it in his eyes—acknowledgment.
I pressed forward, Dark Matter flickering around my arms in jagged streams of violet light. My senses sharpened, every motion slowing in my perception. I struck again and again, landing glancing hits, one clean blow across his jaw that snapped his head to the side.
For once, I had the upper hand.
"Not bad at all," Slade muttered, wiping blood from the corner of his lip. His grin returned, sharper than before.
I smirked, breathing hard but riding the adrenaline. "Told you not to hold back."
Cockiness slipped into my tone, into my stance. I stepped forward too eagerly, fist cocked for another strike—too obvious, too wide.
Slade saw it.
His grin widened, and in a flash, he slipped past my swing. His hand gripped my shoulder, yanking me down as his knee drove up into my stomach again, harder this time. My breath vanished in a single painful burst, and before I could recover, his elbow smashed across my jaw.
Stars burst in my vision.
I staggered, arms flailing, and that was all he needed. He closed the distance, fists flying with machine precision—jab, hook, uppercut—each one landing with brutal accuracy. I tried to guard, tried to counter, but he was too quick. Too damn clean.
The last hit came like lightning—a straight punch to my chest that sent me flying back, crashing onto the dirt. My back slammed into the ground, air leaving me in a sharp gasp as I lay there, dazed and staring up at the faint sky beyond the treetops.
Slade stood over me, chest rising and falling, sweat glinting on his brow. He wasn't untouched—my hits had left their mark—but he was still steady. Still standing.
Sunlight broke through the canopy in scattered beams, catching the lake and making it shimmer faintly. The clearing looked calm again, like the fight had never happened—aside from the scuffs in the dirt and the faint cracks in the ground from where our power had clashed.
Ski let out a whistle from behind me. "You two really don't know how to take it easy, huh? It's barely morning and you're already trying to level a forest."
I straightened up, catching my breath, trying not to show how much her words made my chest tighten.
Tifa crossed her arms, her tone softer than Ski's. "Reckless as ever," she said, but she was smiling just a little when her eyes met mine.
Slade brushed dirt from his hands, still wearing that easy grin that made it seem like none of this had pushed him at all. "You've gotten stronger, Kin. A lot stronger. I almost had to try back there."
"Almost," I muttered under my breath.
I forced myself to smile, but it slipped fast. My hand curled at my side. Almost had to try. That's all I'd managed to drag out of him.
Ski hopped off the rock she'd been leaning on and stretched her arms high. "Well, at least you made him work for it. Most people wouldn't last that long against him." She shot me a crooked grin. "So, y'know, losing to the prince isn't that shameful."
Slade rolled his eyes at her. "You did good Kin."
I gave a short laugh, though it sounded hollow even to me. "Yeah… thanks."
The truth was, I hated how heavy my arms still felt. Hated how easily he'd knocked my blade away. Hated that even when I went all out, he still had the edge without breaking a sweat.
Tifa was quiet, but I could feel her watching me. The same way she always had, back then.
The birds had started singing overhead again, the breeze shifted through the branches, and everything around us felt calm. But inside, I was still burning
Slade dusted off his hands one last time, then looked over at me with that same easy grin. "You'll have plenty of time to brood later, Kin. Right now, you should be thinking about the second trial."
I turned my head toward him, still catching my breath. "Right, The Second Trial."
He nodded, stretching his arms over his head. "Three days from now. That's when they'll hit us with the next stage. The first trial was just to weed out the ones who had no business being here. This one's where it actually gets interesting."
Ski tilted her head, smirking faintly. "You sound almost excited."
"That's because I am," Slade shot back. "The second trial isn't about brute force. It's about brains. Strategy. They'll throw us into some scenario and see how we handle it. Could be a battlefield, could be a survival run, could be something completely different. They like to keep us guessing."
I frowned, trying to steady my thoughts. "So it's not just fighting."
Slade shook his head. "Not even close. They want to see who can lead. Who can think under pressure. Who can keep their group alive when it looks like everything's stacked against them."
I let that sink in, my hand brushing absently against the ring on my finger. Fighting was one thing. Thinking like a commander? That was something else entirely.
Ski groaned and flopped onto the grass nearby. "Sounds like they're going to dump us in some nightmare scenario and laugh while we flail around."
Tifa, who had been quiet until then, gave a small smile. "Or maybe it's their way of seeing who we really are when things get hard." Her eyes flicked briefly toward me, then back to the lake.
Slade laughed lightly. "Either way, it's going to separate the ones who deserve to stand as Ethereal Knights from the ones who just like swinging swords."
I stayed quiet, the sound of the breeze filling the silence around me. Three days. That's all I had before I had to prove myself again.
As we left the quiet grove behind, I trailed just a step behind the others, flexing my hands as we walked. The skin on my knuckles was smooth again. No swelling, no cuts, not even the bruises I expected after getting knocked around by Slade. My ribs too—what should've ached with every breath felt steady, like the damage had never happened.
I slowed for a moment, running my fingers over my side beneath the fabric of my shirt, almost expecting to find something sore. Nothing. My body had healed on its own, faster than I'd ever known it could.
I didn't say anything. Not to Tifa, not to Ski, not even to Slade. I just let the thought sit with me, heavy but strangely comforting, as we carried on back toward the heart of the capital.
**
By the time the sun began its slow descent, the four of us had settled into Slade's quarters.
His room was bigger than most homes I'd seen in Wellwood—arched ceilings, tall windows with velvet curtains drawn just enough to let the evening light spill across polished stone floors. A massive desk sat cluttered with books and papers near the far wall, while a set of training gear leaned neatly in one corner. The place smelled faintly of old parchment and cedar, but underneath it all was that subtle warmth that came from being lived in.
Slade sprawled out in a chair near the desk, his boots kicked up on the edge as he idly tossed a ball of light from one hand to the other.
Ski had taken over the window seat, her legs pulled up to her chest, while Tifa sat close enough to the edge of the bed that I could see the way her hands fidgeted in her lap.
I stayed near the opposite side, leaning against the wall, arms crossed as I let my eyes wander over the room.
It felt… surreal. A prince's chambers. A place I probably should've felt out of place in. But instead, it felt almost familiar. Like I'd been here before, in another lifetime.
Slade tossed the ball of light one last time and let it fade away before leaning forward. "So, we've got three days until the second trial," he said, tone casual, but I caught the glint of anticipation in his eyes. "That's enough time to rest up, train, or get our heads straight. Whatever we need."
Ski groaned and dropped her forehead against her knees. "Or enough time for you two idiots to pick another fight and wreck half the courtyard."
I smirked faintly, though the thought of our earlier clash still gnawed at me. My body had healed, yeah—but inside, the sting of being outmatched hadn't faded one bit.
Tifa broke the silence before it grew too heavy. "We don't even know what the trial will be yet." Her voice was calm, thoughtful. "They never announce it until the last moment."
I pushed off the wall and sat down on the edge of the bed, close enough that the mattress dipped slightly beneath my weight. My hands rested loosely on my knees, and I stared down at them for a moment before speaking.
"Doesn't matter what it is," I muttered. "Whatever they throw at us, we'll face it. Same as always."
The words came easier than I expected, but deep down, I wasn't sure if I was trying to reassure them—or myself.
Slade tilted his head, studying me for a moment, then smirked. "Well, at least your confidence hasn't changed." He leaned forward a little more, resting his elbows on his knees. "But seriously, Kin… you gonna be okay out there? I mean, we both know you're still not exactly polished." His smirk widened just slightly, teasing, but not cruel.
For a second, I almost let the sting of his words bite. But instead, I lifted my chin, met his gaze, and let a grin pull at the corner of my mouth.
"I'm just getting started."